


Hell's Fire

by raiining



Category: Black Jewels - Anne Bishop, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Black Jewels Fusion, Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Gen, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Pining, Strike Team Delta
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-10
Updated: 2015-05-10
Packaged: 2018-03-29 22:49:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3913567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raiining/pseuds/raiining
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint Barton’s been left behind after an op.  Phil’s not happy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hell's Fire

**Author's Note:**

> For those who aren't familiar with the Black Jewel Verse, here's a bit of a summary. I know I promised this fusion a long time ago, but better late then never, right?
> 
> The Jewels:
> 
> White  
> Yellow  
> Tiger Eye  
> Rose  
> Summer-Sky  
> Purple Dusk  
> Opal *  
> Green  
> Sapphire  
> Red  
> Gray  
> Ebon-Gray  
> Black
> 
>  
> 
> * opal is the dividing line between _light_ and _dark_ jewels, since it can be either
> 
> A member of the Blood receives their first jewel during their Birthright Ceremony. They can then descend a maximum of three jewel strengths when they make their Offering to the Darkness. For example, a birthright white can descend to rose.
> 
>  
> 
> The Castes in descending order of authority:
> 
> Queen (female)  
> Warlord Prince (male)  
> Black Widow (female), Healer (female), or Priestess (female)  
> Warlord (male) or Prince (male)  
> Blood female (all blood females are called ‘witch’)  
> Blood male (the lowest caste)
> 
>  
> 
> Castes are independent of jewel strength. A person’s rank is determined primarily through caste, then adjusted using jewel strength, and then tempered again by societal connection. This complicated dance is controlled by Protocol - a series of rules that dictate how members of the blood relate to each other. For example, a Queen will always be ranked higher than a blood male, even if the Queen wears a white jewel and the blood male a black, but a white-jewelled Queen would have to be pretty confident to start ordering around a black-jewelled male, since his power would dwarf her own, and if he disagreed with her, he could kill her. There is no penalty for murder among the Blood. 
> 
>  
> 
> There are different races making up the Blood, one of which is Eyrien, which are humans with bat-like membranous wings attached to their shoulder blades. They are notoriously confrontational and difficult to control.
> 
>  
> 
> Massive thanks to Desert_Neon, who edited this for me, and to Robyn, who loves the Black Jewels Trilogy and was my resident expert on this world. Thank you both so much!

Phil pulls himself back from the killing edge. “Say that again.”

Agent Hand shoots him a glare, but her shoulders straighten. “Agent Barton refused to meet us at the extraction point, sir. He said, and I quote, ‘Fuck off, I’ll come back when I’m thrice-damned ready.’”

Phil breathes steadily in and out through his nose. “And so you left without him,” he states. It isn’t a question.

Hand raises an eyebrow, looking supremely unconcerned. “Yes.”

“Did it ever occur to you,” Phil asks, working very hand to keep his voice steady, “that there may have been a _reason_ for Agent Barton’s insubordination?”

Hand frowns. “He’s an Eyrien, sir.”

“Yes,” Phil agrees, anger leeching into his voice despite his best efforts, “he is. That has no bearing whatsoever on his status as a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. Which means that you made an assumption based on race, jumped to conclusions because of bias, and left a decorated agent in a drastically hostile situation because he hurt your _feelings?_ ”

Hand glares. “I left him because he wasn’t at the extraction point at the time specified, _sir_ ,” she states coldly. “We had the data Barton recovered, data known to be _essential_ to the secondary team waiting on that information. There was no way for Agent Sitwell to dismantle the bomb without the codes Barton supplied. I waited for Barton, he never showed. His answer via comm stated he wasn’t going to. So I left.”

Phil forcibly reminds himself that Hand is a Priestess. Instead of dedicating herself to a Shrine, the way their ancestors would have, she has dedicated herself to the organization known as S.H.I.E.L.D. That means that she will always put the needs of S.H.I.E.L.D. above everything else, including herself and those agents under her command. 

Sometimes it’s a blessing, but, more often than not, Phil disagrees with her conclusions. 

“That was not your decision to make,” Phil tells her firmly. “You were the lead agent on the ground, but I was the senior agent in charge of the overreaching operation. The fact that Barton stayed behind to accomplish some kind of unknown activity should have been relayed to me the _instant_ he communicated with you. The data could have been passed to Sitwell without delay. Instead, you waited until your team had returned to base to inform me that we left one of our best agents out in the cold.”

Hand goes still, absorbing that information. Finally, she nods. “You’re right, sir. I should have informed you immediately of Agent Barton’s decision to remain behind.”

Phil waits, but that’s it. No apology, no offer to go back for Barton herself. She holds Phil’s gaze, but she’s not sorry that she made the choice she did. Phil bites back a sigh. He shouldn’t have expected more, he knows Hand well enough after working with her on and off for the past five years. She had been an excellent operative, but she should never have been promoted to field handler. Phil will recommend that she be transferred to operational control of a secondary base as soon as this mission is done. The move will be a promotion, of a sort. 

“Very well, Agent Hand. Thank you for relaying the information. Please see to the debrief of your team and await further instructions. I may need some additional data from the ground.” He stands up from behind his desk and grabs the go-bag he keeps safe in his closet.

Hand’s eyebrows knit together. “You’re going after him?”

Phil packs an extra set of comms, his backup gun, and a set of batteries, and then vanishes the go-bag. “Yes.”

“We left thirty hostiles on the ground,” Hand points out, watching him. “Barton got the data but he’d radioed in about a bogey. Our last information is six hours old. You have no idea what you’re walking into.”

“I’m going to the Assistant Director to approve the use of an Opal coach. I’ll arrive in the east end of the city instead of the west. That will throw anyone looking for a S.H.I.E.L.D. response off my back.”

Hand frowns. “If you say so, sir.”

Phil nods at her. “I do say so, Agent Hand. Thank you for your assistance. See to your team, I’ll take things from here.” He strides past her, out of his office, and turns left down the hall. 

Maria is always busy post-op, but when Phil knocks at her door, she opens it. “You want to go back for Barton,” she states. It isn’t a question. 

Phil nods. “I need permission to use an Opal coach.” 

Maria reaches into her field suit and removes a folded string of paperwork. “Already done. You should be in the city within an hour. Radio in once you’ve found him.”

Phil smiles. “I will. Thank you, Maria.”

“Don’t mention it,” she says, handing him the papers. “Remember to stick to the shadows. The Budapest Mayor-Queen already hates us. She won’t hesitate to execute any S.H.I.E.L.D. agent she finds. 

Phil tucks the papers away. “I know,” he reminds her. He’d written the mission directives himself, after all.

Maria takes a slow breath in and lets it out. “Okay. Happy hunting, Phil.”

He smiles with all his teeth. “Thank you.”

 

*

 

The Opal coach is fast, but it’s hardly luxurious. Phil spends an hour strapped in, weathering the bumps with a stoicism earned through years of military-grade transports. 

Budapest is a thriving city located at the intersection of several different webs. Opal is a darker jewel, not the darkest S.H.I.E.L.D. has in its arsenal, but close. There aren’t many people alive in the world who can travel along its threads, and none of those who can are known to be in Hungary right now. Phil expects the exit point to be deserted, and it doesn’t disappoint. Phil thanks his driver before slipping away from the coach, melting into the shadows as best as he’s able, using a flare of Summer-Sky power to muffle his steps. 

He needs to contact Barton. Phil would prefer to speak psychically along a spear-to-spear thread, but he knows the Budapest Mayor-Queen has a Summer-Sky jewel among her First Circle. Instead of taking the risk of being overheard, Phil taps his comm twice. 

He waits, but there’s no answer. Phil grits his teeth and refuses to believe that silent comms means that Barton is dead. There’s no way the biggest pain in his ass would just up and die on him, not like this. Phil finds a covered alleyway and ducks inside, activating his comm again. “If you force me to slink through a hostile city just to drag your dead body home,” Phil mutters out loud, “I will find a way to resurrect you just to kill you again.”

This time the comm crackles once before a voice replies. “Hell’s fire,” Clint says, sounding surprised. “Coulson, is that you?”

Phil breathes a sigh of relief. “Yes, it is Hawkeye. Status, please.”

There’s a cough over the line that sounds wet, but Clint’s voice is strong. “I’m okay, I caught a little excitement, but I got it covered for now. Where are you? Are you piping this in via Germany?”

Phil shakes his head, even though Clint can’t see him. “No, I’m on site. Give me your location and I can meet you wherever you are within twenty minutes.”

“You’re - what? You’re _here?_ ” Clint sounds incredulous.

“I am.”

“Shit. I told Hand to leave me alone.”

Phil frowns. “You did, but you didn’t tell _me_. Why? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I - ” Clint hesitates. “Nothing.”

Phil doesn’t like this. “If it’s essential,” he says slowly, “I can leave.” He doesn’t want to, but he’ll do whatever he needs to do to keep Clint safe.

“No,” Clint hurries to say, “please don’t.” He laughs, low and bitter. “It might be selfish, but I’m glad that you’re here. I could use the help.”

Phil doesn’t like the sound of that, even if he’s glad that Clint isn’t sending him away. “What’s the situation?”

“I don’t want to say over comms,” Clint defers. “Meet me at the coffee shop where we shared pastries that one time in thirty minutes. I’ll explain everything then. Hawkeye out.” The comm clicks off.

It takes Phil a minute to think back. He can remember the taste of the sweets, sticky with honey and filled with cream, and the surprised delight in Clint’s eye when he’d bitten into one. It takes him a second to remember the address, though. It’s all the way on the other side of town. 

Phil adjusts his radio frequency and sends a coded message back to headquarters. “I’ve made contact. Proceeding to rendezvous with asset now.”

His comm clicks in acknowledgement. Phil orients himself and starts heading south, sticking to the shadows to avoid being seeing.

The coffee shop is deserted when Phil walks in, except for Clint, who’s standing in the back. He has two large coffees in hand, along with a selection of pastries. His wings are folded up and tucked under his harness, which is covered by a long dark coat. Phil always thinks he looks strange without his wings extended and ready to lift him into the air at any time, but of course an Eyrien would be memorable.

Clint smiles when he sees Phil. “Hey, I got you your favourite.” He hands Phil one of the drinks.

Phil takes the coffee, slipping into the role of meeting-my-friend-at-the-coffee-shop with ease. It’s a tactic they’ve used before. He raises the cup to his nose to sniff, smelling hazelnut, caramel cream, and sugar. “Thanks,” he says. He’s not actually that hungry, but he could use the calories and the caffeine. If the situation is as dire as Clint’s making it seem, he’ll probably need both.

Clint shoots him a smile and leads him out of the shop, walking him down the street and to an alleyway just off the main road. From there, it’s a quick hike to the quiet apartment building where Clint has obviously set up shop.

Phil follows Clint into the room. It’s sparsely decorated, but the apartment still has a lived-in feel. He can smell Clint in the small kitchen, the tiny living room, and the rumbled bed. “Is this rented under an alias that you maintain?”

Clinit shrugs with one shoulder. “Yeah, it’s leftover from my mercenary days. I’ve got this one and a few others scattered in different cities around the globe. Here.” He hands Phil the box of pastries. “I don’t actually have any food in the apartment.”

“Thanks,” Phil says, taking one of the desserts for politeness’ sake. Protocol dictates that Phil accept the gesture, since he’s a higher ranking warlord prince currently enjoying Clint’s hospitality. The significance of Clint allowing Phil into one of his private apartments is not lost on Phil. Clint has always been fiercely independent, even more than would be expected for an Eyrien. 

Phil bites into the treat and takes a sip of his coffee, still hot, despite their nighttime walk. He sits on the ratty sofa. “Tell me what’s going on.”

Clint nods, rolling his own coffee cup around between his hands. He paces up and down the living room. He wants to fly, Phil knows. Clint likes to hover when he’s got something on his mind - he says keeping his body busy helps his mind to focus - but of course the harness prevents that. If he has to, Clint can use his jewels to shred the coat and pop the quick-release button on the harness, but getting his large, membranous wings bundled up again is a headache they don’t have time for tonight. 

“I got to the target location just fine,” Clint reports, still pacing, “and I made it to the computer room without incident. I was halfway through the download when I caught a glimpse of something, though. Some _one_.”

Phil nods. “Hand said you’d reported a bogey.”

“Yeah,” Clint agrees. “I radioed it in, but I didn’t want to report exactly who I saw. I knew Hand would take her presence the wrong way, and I knew that it wasn’t going to interfere with the mission. I completed the download and sent in the codes. Hand confirmed receipt and then told me to get my ass back to the extraction point. I was moving in that direction when I saw it - her - again.”

Phil stares. “Who did you see, Clint?”

Clint hesitates, takes a deep breath in, and meets Phil’s eyes. “The Black Widow.”

Phil frowns. “ _A_ black widow? Or - ”

“ _The_ Black Widow, Coulson,” Clint confirms. “Natasha Romanova.”

Phil can feel his eyes widening. “And how - exactly - do you know the Black Widow well enough to recognize her with a single glance? That isn’t in your file.” Phil knows Clint’s file front to back and sideways.

Clint looks away, his cheeks colouring. “I’d never mentioned the connection, sir. It - she - was a long time ago, during my merc days. I’d taken a contract to eliminate another organization’s assassin. When it came down to the wire, though, I couldn’t do it. I warned her of the hit and took off.”

Phil can feel several of the question marks he had mentally marked on Clint’s file coming together. “That’s what set the gangs after you. You’d always worked well with them before.”

Clint nods. “I reneged on a contract - they weren’t too happy about that. I evaded the gangs for as long as could but, eventually, that’s what led me to S.H.I.E.L.D.”

“But you’ve seen the Black Widow since then,” Phil goes on, still assembling the pieces. “The Tokyo mission. That was her.”

Clint winces. “Yeah.”

“I could never figure out how you’d eliminated thirty trained operatives all by yourself,” Phil says with a shake of his head. “I mean, you’re good, but you’re not _that_ good.”

Clint grins. “Nah, that was all Natasha. She found me in that sticky situation and got me out.” He sobers. “That’s all it was, though, an elimination of debt. We’re not anything like… friends, or anything. I’ve left her a message here or there, and she’s gotten back to me, but that’s it.”

Phil watches him. He’s tense. “What’s different now?”

Clint exhales. “She didn’t look good. Natasha, I mean. She didn’t - she looked _raw,_ cold and hungry and tired. That isn’t - ” he shakes his head, “I’ve never seen her like that, sir. Natasha is, well, basically what you’d expect - a stone cold badass, with a face made for movies and dedicated to poker. She’s never given anything away, not any time I’d ever seen her. But now? What I saw today?” He bites his lip. “I’m worried.”

Phil nods slowly, thinking that over. “How long of a glimpse did you get of her?”

Clint looks away. “Half a second.”

“That’s long enough, for you,” Phil agrees. He finishes his coffee and stands up, checking his clip. “What’s the plan?”

Clint blinks, staring at him. “What?”

“I assume you want to bring her in,” Phil starts, beginning with the most obvious conclusion. 

“I - well, _yeah,_ ” Clint admits, “but . . . you’d let me?”

“Barton,” Phil says, patiently, “the Black Widow has been on our recruitment list for years.”

“No, she isn’t,” Clint says, startled. “I checked.”

“You checked the general list,” Phil points out, “because those are public under level five, but you haven’t seen Nick Fury’s personal hand-written list of all-stars. I have, and I assure you, the Black Widow is at the top of the list.” He catches Clint’s eye and smiles. “Immediately under you.”

Clint looks thrown. “Me?”

“‘‘The elusive mercenary known as Hawkeye,’” Phil confirms, quoting from memory, “‘suspected but not confirmed to be Eyrien, possessing exceptional accuracy and hand-eye coordination reflexes.’” He shakes his head. “Nick jumped at the chance to recruit you in Vienna.”

Clint stares. “I - I didn’t know.”

“I realize that,” Phil tells him, sympathetically. “I’m only telling you this now so that you’ll understand - you’re a valued member of S.H.I.E.L.D., and if you decide that you’re staying behind after a mission, or if you say that you want to bring someone in, that’s your prerogative. Please promise me that you won’t run the next time something like this happens, Barton. If you try to talk to your senior agent and they don’t agree with you, then you come to me. I will _always_ listen to you.” He meets Clint’s eye. “Okay?”

Clint stares at him. “Okay, sir,” he says, his voice hoarse. “Thank you.”

Phil steels his heart against the look of adoration on Clint’s face. It’s directed towards S.H.I.E.L.D. and has nothing to do with him personally. Still, it’s gratifying to think that Clint finally understands his place in S.H.I.E.L.D.’s hierarchy. He’s never been the lone wolf he might have liked to believe he was. He’s never been expendable. Not to Nick and, most especially, not to Phil.

And maybe - just maybe - Phil will give in to the fantasy of what might happen if Clint ever _were_ to direct a look like that at him, just him, later, much later, in bed. It’s a pleasant thought, even though a blood male like Clint would never want anything to do with a warlord prince like him. Clint may be technically stronger with his Purple Dusk jewel against Phil’s Summer-Sky, but warlord princes are known to be irritable, cold, and violent. Clint’s had enough of that in his life.

Phil does his best to control those terrible aspects of himself, but he knows that control is tenuous at best. Clint deserves better.

Clint deserves everything.

Phil holsters his weapon. “You’re the expert on the ground here. What do you want to do?”

Clint takes a deep breath. “Well, first, we have to find her. I have a couple of ideas of places we can look, and then, if you’re serious about the offer, we approach her.” He shoots Phil a half-grin. “I’ll let you do the talking. I’m no good at that sort of stuff.”

“You should give yourself more credit,” Phil demurs, calling his go-bag. It appears in the air, materializing from the pocket dimension where he’d stashed it, and he steps forward to remove a map of the city out of one of the compartments. He opens it up and spreads it over Clint’s cheap coffee table, using a small amount of Yellow power to hold down the corners. “Okay, walk me through the areas you want to look at tonight. We can radio in for surveillance back-up if we don’t find her by tomorrow afternoon.”

 

*

 

In the end, finding Natasha Romanova takes less time than Phil had anticipated.

“My name is Phil Coulson,” he says, standing alone in the abandoned warehouse on the edge of town, keeping his hands open and visible, so she can see them. “I’m an agent with the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division.”

“S.H.I.E.L.D.,” the Black Widow says. This close, Phil can see what Clint meant about her. She looks tired. At some point she’d used a sight spell to hide the worst of her exhaustion, but that shield had since failed. Of course, since this is the Black Widow it’s entirely possible that she _wants_ him to see how tired she is, in order to underestimate her, but that doesn’t negate the fact that the fatigue is there. 

“Yes, that’s right,” Phil agrees. “S.H.I.E.L.D. I’d like to discuss with you an offer of employment.”

The Black Widow says nothing. Her hands are steady on the gun she has pointed at Phil’s face. The flecks of Rose jewel that surround her wrist cuffs glow faintly in the dim light. 

Clint steps out of the alcove where he’d been hiding. The shadows are lengthening, but he moves so he’s completely in her sight. The Black Widow doesn’t twitch. She must have known he was there. “Natasha, please. Listen to him. S.H.I.E.L.D. has been good to me. I wouldn’t have asked Coulson to make this offer if I wasn’t convinced that it could be good for you, too.”

Her eyes cut to him, but her gun never wavers. “Good to you?”

Clint nods. “Yes. Medical supplies, a safe place to bunk for the night. Tech, armour, backup - ”

“Please,” the Black Widow interrupts, “don’t insult me. You would have died in Tokyo without my help.”

Phil flattens his lips, because she’s not wrong. That op had been a fuck-up from start to finish. Demoting Jackson back down to level five hadn’t been near satisfying enough. 

The Black Widow’s eyebrows twitch, which is the only sign she gives that she’s seen Phil’s reaction at all.

Surprisingly, Clint laughs. “I said ‘backup,’” he says, grinning. “I didn’t say ‘you.’”

Her gaze turns considering. “Is that why you want me to come in? So I can watch your back?”

“No,” Clint says, sobering. “I have Coulson to watch my back, and Sitwell, and Blake, and Woo. Even Hill, on a good day. No, Natasha - I want you to come in because I think S.H.I.E.L.D. can help _you_. I don’t know what’s going on with you, but I know it can’t be good.”

She takes a deep breath in. “No,” she agrees. “It isn’t.” 

Phil tries not to give away his surprise. He doesn’t think she’d have admitted that to anyone else.

“Then let me help you,” Clint says earnestly. “Let S.H.I.E.L.D. help you. Please.”

She frowns.

“If I may, Ms. Romanova,” Phil interjects. “I suggest an offer of non-hostile action. Protocol dictates a period of rest and recovery before the re-initiation of an attack. I could welcome you, as a senior agent of S.H.I.E.L.D., to take such a break within the confines of our organization. You’d be welcomed to our base as a guest, and may declare the armistice period over at any time. I would simply ask that you obey the tenets of Protocol and refrain from actively sabotaging our operations until that time.”

The Black Widow narrows her eyes. “Protocol,” she sneers. “You actually obey such an anachronistic convention?”

Clint’s shoulders stiffen, but Phil keeps himself loose. He smiles. “I do. S.H.I.E.L.D. does. If you decide to come with us, Ms. Romanova, we will insist that you do as well.”

Clint steps forward. “There are remedial courses,” he says gently, “for those of us who missed the memo growing up.”

The Black Widow darts a look between the two of them, her body language tense. After a moment of obvious indecision, she relents, holstering her weapon and lowering her arms. “I will agree to a trial period of non-hostile action,” she says formally, lifting her chin to Phil in the gesture of acceptance from a black widow to a warlord prince, before cutting her gaze to Clint in a childish display of _see? I know Protocol, asshole._

Phil stifles a smile. He inclines his head in the answering gesture. “Very well, Ms. Romanova. If you’ll give me a moment, then, I can arrange transport for the three of us. I think Director Fury will be very pleased to learn the basics about what we’ve discussed here today.”

Clint grins, bouncing on his toes, his shoulder shifting with released tension and the promise of getting out of his harness soon. The Black Widow rolls her eyes at him. 

Phil leaves them to do some catching up, and steps away. He keys in the S.H.I.E.L.D H.Q. radio frequency. “Report,” Maria says, as soon as the line connects.

“Asset secure,” Phil says. “We’ve made contact with the bogey, and request transport for three as early as can be arranged.”

Maria doesn’t waste air-time asking questions. “We can do transport for three. Can you return to the drop-off coordinates?”

Phil nods. “We can do that. Twenty minutes?”

“We’ll have the coach waiting. H.Q. out.” Maria clicks off.

Phil looks over and catches Clint’s eye. “We need to get to the east side of the city.”

“No problem, boss,” Clint says, shooting him a grin.

The Black Widow shakes her head. “There’s been chatter on the police thread, they know that S.H.I.E.L.D. had an operation running in this area. They’ll be on the lookout for you.”

“We’ve got an Opal coach on standby,” Phil assures her. “So long as we can make it to the rendezvous, we’ll make it out.”

The Black Widow looks apprehensive, which means she’s _letting_ Phil see that she’s nervous, which means she must be really, actively scared. “I know a shortcut through the city.”

Phil doesn’t want to waste time arguing. The Black Widow’s been on the ground longer than he has. “Lead the way.”

Romanova nods and takes off left through the abandoned warehouse. Clint glances once at Phil before following. Phil unclips his sidearm and takes up the rear. They slink from shadow to shadow through the city, ducking under a half-constructed railway line to make it back to the Opal coach rendezvous point in record time. Phil peers over the buildings to the loading area while the other two wait in flanking positions. There doesn’t appear to be anyone here.

“Okay,” he says, speaking through the comm. ““I’ll summon the coach on the count of three, and then we’ll run for the open area. Ready? One - two - ”

A sudden explosion tears through the air. Phil’s thrown backwards off his chosen perch, slamming into the ground with enough force to drive the air from his lungs. He scrambles to his feet and lurches forward, reaching out with his mind for the flag he uses to summon the Opal coach. The flag is gone.

“What the - ” Phil starts. 

“There’s a psychic witch storm engulfing the area,” the Black Widow says, her voice tight. She’s appeared from somewhere to guard Phil’s left, gun held lightly in those deceptively soft hands. She doesn’t look injured. “We won’t be able to call the coach now.”

Phil opens his mind and curses. She’s right. The witch storm blankets this corner of Budapest, raging just beyond his senses. He can feel the static of it’s psychic presence. 

“What now, sir?” Clint asks, appearing just as silently on Phil’s right. He’s shredded his coat and unbuckled his harness, but his wings are still folded and tucked in tight. Phil can just see them, a barely visible, dark, membranous shadow held closely against his back. 

“We’ll have to take another coach,” Phil says, trying to force his mind to engage. His ears are still ringing from the force of the explosion. “We know Budapest has a Summer-Sky, so we can’t use that. Opal’s out. We’ll need to take the Purple Dusk.”

“The Purple Dusk doesn’t run through Budapest, sir,” Clint protests. “The nearest web I could catch is thirty minutes outside of the city.”

“You could make it,” Phil tells him, “if you flew there.”

Clint blinks. “I can’t carry three people, Coulson. I’d have difficulty with even one.”

Phil shakes his head. “The Black Widow isn’t heavy, you should be able to fly with her and pilot a coach back to Headquarters. Take this,” he says, pulling out his S.H.I.E.L.D. identification. “Give it to Assistant Director Hill. She’ll know what to do.”

Clint stares at him in horror. “What? No! I’m not leaving you here.”

Phil glares at him. “This isn’t a discussion, Agent. It’s an order. I want you to take the Black Widow and return to base. I’ll catch the Summer-Sky web and meet you back there by tomorrow a.m.” 

“No,” Clint protests. “This isn’t happening, Coulson. Write me up for insubordination if you want to, but I’m not leaving you behind. You wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for me.”

“Clint,” Phil says, trying to make him see reason. “They blew up the rendezvous point. They obviously know that we’re here.”

“All the more reason for us to stick together,” Clint argues.

Phil opens his mouth to disagree, but the Black Widow interrupts. “As touching as this is, we’re wasting time. If we aren’t splitting up, then we’ll have to get a move on. The Summer-Sky station is only a few blocks from here The Queen’s police could be setting explosives while we speak.”

Phil flattens his lips into a line. She’s right, and there’s no arguing with Clint when he gets obstinate. Phil’s best chance of getting him out of here alive is to shut up and pretend that he’s won this round. “Fine. She’s right, we have to hurry. Barton, can you scout ahead and take out any police you see on the ground?”

Clint summons his quiver and fits an arrow to the string of his bow. “It would be my genuine pleasure.”

Phil rolls his eyes. “Widow, you’re with me. We’ll continue on the ground. Speed is paramount, but don’t take any unnecessary risks. S.H.I.E.L.D. would still love to claim that we’d never set foot in this city.”

“Understood,” the Black Widows says. She takes off low and fast along the edge of a building.

Clint looks at Phil and opens his mouth.

“Don’t even start with me, Barton,” Phil snaps. “We’ll have words about this later. For now, just do as you’re told.”

For a moment, Clint looks like he wants to argue, but then he snaps his jaw shut and nods. “Roger that, sir.”

He shrugs off the harness and ruffles his wings, shifting them once against his back before extending them out from his spine. As always, the shimmering dark membrane looks luxurious, and Phil wonders, for the hundredth time, if they really are as soft as they appear. 

“Good hunting,” he says, because he has no self control where Clint is concerned. He can’t bear the thought of sending him into danger with the hard glint still obvious in Clint’s eyes.

“You too, sir,” Clint says, his features softening. He flaps his wings once, gathering strength, and then launches himself into the sky. He twists and begins to turn north, angling himself to scope out their route.

Phil stares after him for a full half-second, and then bites the inside of his cheek and turns, hurrying after the Black Widow. She’s already taken down two men who had been advancing on their position. Phil leaves them facedown in the dirt and nods at her, following her lead as they advance into the city.

No matter what happens, he’s getting his people home.

 

*

 

The run towards the Summer-Sky station is uneventful, but Phil can hear the sound of fighting long before they reach the landing zone. 

“Barton!” he shouts into his comm. In the skies above them, he can see Clint twist and shoot. “Report!”

“Six hostiles remain, I’ve taken out three of them. They’ve got long-range projectiles and, _Mother Night!_ ” he curses as he dives suddenly towards the ground. “A rocket launcher!”

Phil ducks his head as the sky explodes, running the last half block that separates them from the landing zone. Beside him, the Black Widow has gone dark, melting into the shadows and disappearing from sight. Phil can only hope that she’ll stick to her word and help them, and not disappear the first chance she gets. Ignoring how utterly screwed they would be if that happened, Phil shakes his wrist to ready his cufflink. He sprints around a building, ducks under a flash of White power, and sends a bolt of Summer-Sky fire into the Budapest officer holding the rocket launcher.

The weapon explodes. Phil summons a Yellow shield to protect his face and keeps moving. The majority of the Budapest officers are lighter jewels - he sees White, Yellow, and Tiger-Eye ribbons of power, with only the occasional blast of Rose. He knows there’s at least one Summer-Sky in the arsenal, though, and the presence of heavy weapons evens the score. The drain of maintaining a constant personal shield will limit his ability to fight. Phil tightens his shield so it mainly protects his head, and uses his cufflink to take out a trio of officers carrying White jewels and alternating their blasts of power with handguns.

“It looks like they’ve brought a sizable force,” Natasha Romanov comments, appearing suddenly beside Phil. “The Mayor-Queen must not like you very much.”

Phil grits his teeth. “It’s not an unreasonable grudge.” S.H.I.E.L.D. had stopped the city from acquiring a Ring of Obedience three years ago, at the direction of the World Security Council of Queens. “I’m surprised she hasn’t blown the entire Summer-Sky web.”

A squadron of officers appears around a building, each of them wearing Rose. Phil raises his right arm, but then Clint appears, swooping down from the sky and losing a Purple-Dusk tinted arrow. “It’s a trap,” he says as the arrow explodes behind him. “They lured us here by destroying the Opal rendezvous point and now they plan to crush us like bugs.”

Phil can feel the tantalizing sharpness of the killing edge. “They can try.”

The Black Widow huffs something that might be a laugh. “I can see why you like him,” she says to Clint.

Clint grins. “He’s alright.”

Phil shakes his head. “Children,” he reprimands, holding his bloodlust at bay. He needs to think clearly. “Hawkeye, go around and up,” he says, making a decision. “Black Widow, over and down. I’ll take the middle. On three - two - ”

They split evenly, Clint hoisting himself into the air, Natasha darting low to the side. Phil readies his cufflink and detonates the air in front of them. Three Budapest officers who’d been sneaking through the rubble to surprise him scream and go down. There’s another explosion on his right - that would be Clint - and a third on his left. 

“Well,” Phil says out loud, snapping off two rounds with his sidearm and incapacitating the officer trying to sneak up on Natasha’s position, “there goes our plausible deniability.” 

Clint laughs over the comms. “Don’t worry, sir, Nick will forgive you. Everyone knows you’re his favourite.”

Phil lifts one eyebrow as he takes down another officer. “That would be Maria. I’m just second best.”

“The path is clear,” Natasha says, popping back up on his left, “but we have to go now.”

_Hawkeye?_ Phil sends over a spear thread.

_I’m right above you,_ Clint sends back. _Go!_

Phil does as he’s told, following Natasha’s lead. He takes three steps and then something hits him - a wave of power that throws him back. Phil has enough time to recognize the flavour of Summer-Sky before he hits the pavement hard enough to bounce. A scream rips over the comms. It’s Clint, but he’s okay, he’s high enough to have missed it, so why would he - ?

Oh. Phil raises a hand to his head and it comes away red. Ow. 

“I’m okay,” he says. Forcing air past his lips hurts, but he needs his team to understand. “Get to the coach. I’ll handle this.”

“I can take them,” Clint says, voice tight with fury over the comm. Phil scans the skies can can’t see him - his black wings provide effective camouflage against the pitch dark night. 

There’s still the threat of heavy weapons, though. “Negative,” Phil replies, just as he catches sight of his attacker. It’s a short woman with long hair tied back from her head, creeping her way along the street. A Summer-Sky jewel hangs from a chain around her neck. “Go. That’s an order.”

Clint makes a sound, and Phil knows he’s going to argue, but then Natasha grunts over the comm. “Hawkeye - I need backup here.”

Clint exhales. “On my way,” he says. “Good luck, sir.”

“You’re confidence is inspiring,” Phil says dryly, and then rolls to the side and flings up a shield, narrowly missing the blast of Summer-Sky force.

He responds with a flare of Yellow power, trying to rip his adversary’s legs out from under her. She blocks it. Her next attack is a repeat of her first, a solid wall of power, and Phil grins as he tucks into himself behind a shattered block of concrete to avoid it. 

Dueling with power is as much about creativity as it is about force. A White can beat a Yellow, if they’re smart and quick enough. Phil rolls left, sends a burst of Yellow to the Budapest officer’s right, then a flare of Summer-Skye to her left, and finally pops her in the back of the head with a bullet from his sidearm while she’s distracted.

It ricochets off the shield spell she has activated, but the force of it is enough to send her crashing to the ground unconscious. Phil shoots her in the leg to keep her stationary and hightails it back to where his people are fighting.

“The Summer-Sky is down,” Phil says as he runs. “What’s your status?”

“We’re here,” Clint replies, and Phil looks up. Clint’s low to the ground, firing steadily at something out of sight that Phil can’t see. He puts on a burst of speed. Up head is a small ridge, and when he crests it, he can see the station. Clint sinks lower in the sky, hovering, and Phil activates his comm. “Hawkeye, go higher,” he orders. There’s another rocket launcher, just out of sight of Clint’s position. “We can take out the rest.”

“No can do, sir,” Clint argues. “They’re trying to set the charges. I’ve got to keep them interested in me or they’ll finish the job.” 

Phil curses and looks around for the Black Widow. He can’t see her, which means she’s probably wreaking havoc somewhere out of sight. “Widow, report in.” He waits a beat, but she doesn’t answer. “Hawkeye, do you have eyes on Widow?”

“She’s taking out a nest of officers to my six,” Clint relays. “One got her in the face with a shot of power, it might have taken out her comm. I’ve got eyes on the bomb. The path to the explosives will be clear in five - four - three - two - ”

There’s a burst of gunfire. Phil runs as fast he he can towards the coach, shooting one officer in the knee and using a blast of power to take out another as he goes. He sees Clint twist in the air, and then the Black Widow suddenly appears, launching herself at the man with the rocket launcher. 

Phil blocks the rest of the fight from his mind as he reaches the explosives. He doesn’t know more than basic bomb disposal, but thankfully that’s enough for now. He detaches the detonator and unplugs the wire from the arming device just to make sure it can never fire, then he glances over the Summer-Sky coach. It appears to be in one piece. 

Around him, the night has fallen silent. The firefight appears to be over. “Barton? Widow? Report.”

The Black Widow waves at him from the ground. She’s lying beside a form on the ground, a man with dark, spreading wings. 

“Clint!” Phil shouts, running forward. _No, no, no, no, no!_ “Clint, are you okay?”

He groans. Phil gets the sound in stereo, both from the man in front of him and through the comm in his ear. “Ouch.”

“Where are you hurt?” Phil asks, dropping to his knees. Beside him, the Black Widow meets his eyes and then stands, moving to secure the area.

“I’m okay,” Clint mumbles, even though he doesn’t look it. He’s moving stiffly, and there’s an obvious indentation on his chest, where a bullet had been stopped by his kevlar. “I caught it on the vest.”

“Hell’s fire,” Phil curses. He’s so relieved, he could cry. “The next time I tell you to go, Barton, you’d better _go._ ”

“Not without you, sir,” Clint says, wheezing. “Sorry.”

“Not as sorry as you should be,” Phil says. Clint’s always had a bad habit of making the sacrifice play. 

“Time to go, boys,” the Black Widow says, appearing suddenly on Phil’s left. “Reinforcements have arrived. That’s our cue to bail.”

Phil nods, putting aside inappropriate feelings that he doesn’t have time to deal with now. “Widow, take Barton. I’m going to fire up the coach.” It’s been years since Phil had driven one of these things, but he’s sure he remembers the basics. “I’ll radio H.Q. once we’re in motion, providing you still want to come in?”

The Black Widow looks around. Her face is almost impassive, but Phil can see the smallest hint of a smirk lingering on her upturned lips. “With this kind of excitement on the table, how could I possibly refuse?”

Clint laughs weakly from the pavement. “That’s the spirit, Natasha.”

Phil shakes his head. “Help him into the coach, Widow. We’ve got a long drive home.”

 

 

~ The End

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, a lot of people have mentioned this, so I'm going to write this and then cut and paste it to everyone's comments, and maybe to the bottom notes of the fic:
> 
> 1\. The Black Jewels series is a wonderful, fascinating set of novels with rich, detailed characters set in an extraordinary world, BUT
> 
> 2\. There is a LOT of GRAPHIC depiction of VIOLENCE, RAPE, and MURDER and especially that of CHILDREN. MASSIVE WARNINGS FOR CHILD ENDANGERMENT, CHILD ABUSE, CHILD TORTURE and the MURDER OF CHILDREN.
> 
> These events are terrible, and are depicted as being utterly horribly in every way, but they still happen, and they happen a LOT, and they happen in EVERY BOOK OF THE TRILOGY (the Rose Queen was fairly tame, and I haven't read the Invisible Ring or the short story collections, but the point stands.) 
> 
> I love this series and I adore the themes explored within it and I really, really love the characters, especially Jaenelle, beautiful glorious wonderful Jaenelle, who is one of the absolute best female characters in the history of ever, and I adore Lucivar and Saetan and Surreal (I WILL FIGHT ANYONE WHO HAS ANYTHING NEGATIVE TO SAY ABOUT SURREAL, SHE IS SWEETNESS AND BEAUTY AND LIGHT [no she isn't]) but that doesn't negate the fact that I find this series _incredibly difficult_ to re-read now that I have children. Like, to write this fic I had to skim around parts because no, I can't do this anymore.
> 
> So, to sum up: FANTASTIC SERIES, 10/10 WOULD RECOMMEND. But also: HEED THE WARNINGS. FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT YOU FIND HOLY, HEED THE WARNINGS.


End file.
